


Scars From Giving

by chaostheorem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheorem/pseuds/chaostheorem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel spends Christmas in the bunker. His gift to Dean may reveal more than he intended. S10 fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars From Giving

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [ eternalsojourn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn) for the support and the beta
> 
> Read it on [ tumblr](http://apocalypticgal.tumblr.com/post/104179996264/cas-spends-christmas-in-the-bunker)

Castiel had never truly understood what humans meant when they said they had butterflies in their stomachs until this moment. He felt as if he could shake apart from nerves alone.

Not that he had anything to be nervous about. It was only a small gift exchange amongst friends, not life and death.

Cas stared at the slim package in his hands. The gloves were perfect for Dean - they were a dark grey, silk lined leather pair, but they could be considered feminine by some, and Dean had so many silly rules about what he was allowed to wear and do.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to find something else. He’d spent the last of his earnings from the Gas ‘N Sip on the gloves (and the lottery tickets for Sam) but he could probably find something suitable in the bunker. Perhaps a gun or a sword. Or he could try to bake a pie.

“What do you have there?” Dean asked from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts.

He steeled himself and turned, saddened but unsurprised to find Dean holding a tumbler of whiskey. He looked down at the unwrapped box once more before holding it out. No going back.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Cas…” Dean shook his head. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Cas frowned at the emphasis Dean placed on _me_ but let it pass. “It’s tradition to give gifts to friends and family.”

Dean eyed the gift hesitantly, as if it’d bite him if he touched it. “I don’t have anything for you,” he stalled.

“I wasn’t expecting you to. Please, Dean,” Cas offered, holding the box out farther.

Dean still didn’t take it, and Cas lowered his arm as he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Only a thought,” he said with a tight smile.

He moved to retreat to his room when Dean reached out to stop him with a hand on his arm. “No, Cas. I’m being stupid.” He leaned past Cas to set his tumbler down on the table behind them, then straightened, taking the box out of Cas’s hands.

“Can I open it now?”

Cas nodded. Dean popped the lid off and tossed it next to his drink before gently lifting the gloves out, the bottom of the box unceremoniously following the lid.

Dean didn’t say anything as he ran his fingers up and down and around the gloves. He put them on and flexed his hands, both of them watching the leather hug his fingers as they moved.

Dean cleared his throat. “Thank, Cas. They’re awesome.”

Cas smiled softly. The nerves fled his body, leaving him feeling exhausted. “You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy them.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off the gloves. “I’m gonna go… put them in my room.” He offered a small smile, a shade of what it should have been, and left.

Dean’s awkwardness made Cas doubt the wisdom of his gift for a second before glancing at the table and seeing Dean’s drink still there. He smiled and went to find Sam.

\--

Cas made his way to his room with a feeling of warmth running through him, the butterflies long gone. Sam had laughed and thanked him for the lottery tickets, which didn’t surprise Cas since humans seemed to love them so much. Cas had given him his customary good luck wish and thumbs up, making Sam laugh again. And Dean. Dean had liked the gloves, even worn them. They fit Dean better than Cas had imagined they ever could.

Images of Dean’s hands still in his head, Cas opened his door and stopped still. Dean was sitting on his bed with Cas’s sketchbook in his lap.

“Dean…” he said, wanting to explain but not knowing where to begin.

“The gloves make more sense,” Dean said, and there went any hope that Dean hadn’t seen everything.

Dean stood up. “I didn’t mean to snoop. Okay, I kind of did, but only to get an idea of what to get for you. See if you secretly collected anything or… I don’t know. But then I found your sketchbook. I didn’t even know you drew.”

Cas swallowed. “Jimmy did. I started when I was living as Steve.”

“You’re talented. Although I think your taste in inspiration could use some work,” Dean said with a self-deprecating grin.

Castiel glanced down to the sketch that Dean had been looking at. Dean’s hand was outstretched, open, caked in dirt and blood, and still so strong. The purgatory portal was open around him, ready to whisk Dean away to safety.

The sketchbook was filled with similar drawings: Dean’s hands wrapped around the Impala’s steering wheel, holding a burger, clutching Sam’s shoulder, clutching Cas’s own shoulder, wielding the demon knife, and so many more. He hadn’t kept track, but if he had to guess, Cas would say that there was probably upwards of thirty sketches of Dean’s hands alone.

“The first time I saw you,” Cas started, trying to give some sort of explanation, “you had your hands buried in a man’s gut as you tortured him.”

Dean looked away and Cas stepped forward, waiting until those green eyes were on him again. “Within a day, you were hugging Sam and Bobby, and petting your car, and eating, and doing so many _human_ things. Yes, you did terrible things in Hell, but you didn’t let them consume you.”

Slowly, so that Dean could stop him if he wanted to, Cas took Dean’s left hand in his right and raised it between them, letting it rest so that their palms were touching. Bringing his other hand up, he ran the tips of his fingers across the back of Dean’s hands, Dean watching all the while. They’d touched before, but not like this. The physicality of Dean’s daily life meant that his skin was rough and calloused, but there was a gentleness to his movements that defied expectation. There was a small smudge from where he was still working on the Impala, nevermind that he’d fixed her weeks ago. There were nicks and scars from his years as a hunter, but they only served as a reminder of all he had accomplished.

“The good that these hands have done outweighs the bad a thousand times. How could I not love them?” The unspoken ”how could I not love _you_?” hung between them.

“What if I’m not that man anymore?” Dean finally asked. “The Mark -”

“You are not the Mark of Cain,” Cas interrupted. “You beat it once and you’ll beat it again. Sam and I will be by your side the entire time.”

Dean freed his hand from Cas’, but not to pull away. He took both of Cas’s hands in his, entwining the fingers of both hands so that they were properly holding hands.

“You’ll stay this time?”

“I’ll watch over you,” Cas promised.

Dean swallowed. “Thanks, Cas. For the gloves, and for everything else.” He glanced around the room, unsure of what to do now that their “moment” was over. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then.” He paused a beat. “Unless you want me to stay?”

“I’d like that.”

Dean grinned, some of his old self shining through. “Maybe I’ll model those gloves for you. Will you draw ‘em?”

“I had planned on it.”

As they settled in on Cas’s bed, propped up side-by-side with their backs against the headboard, Cas felt like he was finally home. Heaven may hold his brothers and sisters, but Dean Winchester was his family.


End file.
